by Selena Kitt
“Work?” He held it out to her. “It’s clean—I just showered and put it on before I left for class tonight.”
“It’s kind of brilliant, actually.” Bailey met his eyes, taking the sock from his hand, and something happened when they touched. She didn’t know if it was just the adrenaline still coursing through her or his proximity—she was eye-level with the man’s crotch and she could have counted each of his zipper’s teeth if she wanted to—but she felt something between them that hadn’t been there before. He’d always been very professional with her. Even a bit stern. But the warmth in his eyes now was like walking out of an ice-cold freezer into a sultry, Miami heat. The change was sudden and astonishing.
The baby cried, a soft mewling cry, like a kitten, and it broke whatever spell they were under. Bailey turned toward Sunny and she smiled at the way the now elated new mother had already forgotten the pain of labor. She was too enamored with her newborn.
“Here, let’s put this on. Babies lose eighty percent of their body heat through their heads.” Bailey couldn’t help laughing as she slipped the open end of his sock over the baby’s dark, downy head. He had very little vernix—the white wax-like substance that protected babies from amniotic fluid in the womb—which indicated he had come on time or even a little late. He looked great—good color, lungs sounded clear, bright eyes, everything intact.
“Apgars of seven and nine, I’d say.” Dom had put his shoe back on and was leaning over to look at the baby. Sunny was checking her baby over like every new mother always did—ten fingers, ten toes.
Bailey blinked up at Dom, and she knew he saw the question in her eyes. How did he know about the Apgar scale? The test was actually developed in the 1950s, when most mothers were heavily drugged during childbirth. Those babies were often born with poor reflexes and some even struggled to breathe because the drugs they gave the mother crossed the placenta and went into the baby. The test was developed to quickly assess the newborn and was named after the anesthesiologist who developed it. There were several factors involved, but it basically went from a score of 0—which would be a floppy baby, not breathing, no pulse—to ten, which would be a perfect score.
This little guy wasn’t perfect, but close. She completely agreed with Dom’s assessment.
“You should keep him wrapped up if you can,” Bailey said to Sunny, wondering if Dom had once been pre-med. At least that would explain all his medical knowledge. “Or skin to skin. Keep him warm. I can see if we can get him to latch on… are you breastfeeding?”
“Oh… no…” Sunny shook her head, frowning for the first time since her son had been born. “I’m… he’s… he’s not mine.”
“I’m pretty sure giving birth to him makes him yours,” Dom said, leaning over to pull his sock down further on the baby’s head.
“I mean, I’m giving him up. For adoption.”
Bailey remembered what she’d said when she asked if she’d given birth before.
Three.
This was her third. So where were the other two?
She wanted to ask, but she didn’t. Instead, she unbuttoned the first few buttons of Sunny’s peasant blouse. The goth looked at her in surprise, her face flushed, mascara thick and running down her cheeks from her happy tears, and Bailey thought she’d probably never looked so beautiful in her life.
“Well he’s yours right now,” Bailey reminded her, turning the baby so mother and child were belly to belly, offering the little boy a dark rimmed nipple that he took eagerly, no prompting needed. “Besides, it will help the placenta come.”
Sunny made a face. “Oh fuck, I forgot about that part. Last time they yanked on the cord so hard it broke and I ended up in surgery.”
“Last time?” Dom met Bailey’s eyes, questioning.
“I’m cold.” Sunny’s teeth were starting to chatter. And it was no wonder—she was sitting in a wet skirt and a pool of fluid.
“Here.” Dom draped her knees with his suit coat. “That should help a little.”
Sunny smiled a thank you at him, then her eyes widened in surprise.
“Oh! Something’s happening!”
“Just the placenta.” Bailey peeked under the suit coat, seeing Sunny’s labia bulging. “It will be fine until the ambulance gets here. Unless you’re uncomfortable?”
“No.” Sunny shook her head, stroking the baby’s hand resting on her breast.
Bailey stood, stretching her aching limbs. She’d been squatting down on the floor the whole time.
“Thank you. Both.” Sunny looked up at them, tears brimming. “I don’t know what I would have done without you.”
“You did great,” Bailey assured her, glancing at her watch. She noticed Dom doing the same beside her. Sunny was lost again at the wonder of her baby suckling at her breast.
“So did you.” Dom’s voice was close to her ear, his hand on her shoulder, and she felt it again, that initial zap, like a static shock, followed by a slow spreading warmth.
She turned her head to look back at him and saw the same heat in his eyes. She drifted over to the sink to wash her hands. He did the same, handing her a paper towel to dry them, his eyes still shining. Then they both stood there, looking down at the little miracle that had happened right there on the bathroom floor.
“Amazing.” His hand was back, massaging her shoulder and she had to admit, it felt pretty incredible. “You were amazing.”
“Not really.” She looked at Sunny and her baby, smiling to herself. “Babies have been coming into the world without assistance for a lot longer than we’ve had birth attendants.”
“Don’t sell yourself short.” Now both hands were on her shoulders and she gave a little moan when his big fingers dug into the knots of her muscles. She didn’t realize how much tension she’d been holding. When that little guy’s head had turtled and had started going from dusky to blue, she had been close to panicking.
“God that feels good.” She closed her eyes for a moment, letting him massage her shoulders, forgetting who she was, who he was, just reveling in the solace and comfort of human contact. It took her a moment to remember that this was Professor Jacobs—the man who was failing her in chemistry. The man every girl in class lusted after. The man who was standing bare-chested behind her, hands expertly easing the tension from her body, breath warm against her cheek. God, he smelled good. What was that? Something fragrant and exotic. Patchouli? Sandlewood? It was divine.
She’d been so distracted she didn’t hear the clatter of the gurney coming down the hallway but Dom had.
He checked his watch, murmuring, “Finally.”
As if on cue, the door burst open. Bailey saw Shelby hanging back in the hallway, chewing nervously on a nail. She must have directed the EMTs, who were already talking to Sunny, checking the baby, who wasn’t too happy about being pulled off the breast so they could clamp and cut his umbilical cord. It didn’t matter now—the placenta had detached and the cord had stopped pulsing.
The female EMT, her blond hair pulled back into a ponytail, wrapped the baby in a newborn blanket and started asking Bailey questions. She answered them as the other EMT took care of Sunny and the placenta. They loaded her and the baby onto the gurney, covering her with blankets.
“I’m not sure the shirt’s salvageable,” the blonde EMT said apologetically, holding out Dom’s shirt and suit coat by the collar with gloved hands. “Do you want me to toss it?”
“Sure.” He took his suit coat back, draping it over his arm. “Got plenty more where that came from.”
“Hey, wait!” Sunny craned her neck to see them from flat on her back, motioning them over with the arm not holding the baby. Sunny took Bailey’s hand as she approached and incorporated Dom’s too, so they stood like three people praying. Dom’s hand was large enough to hold both of theirs.
“I just wanted to thank you again.” Sunny’s eyes were brimming. Mascara rimmed her eyes like shadows. “And I’m sorry I told you to fuck off before… oh my god, I don’t even kn
ow your name!”
“Bailey,” she told her, shaking her head. “And I’ve been called worse at births, trust me.”
“I bet.” Sunny laughed, looking at Dom. “And you, I’m so sorry about your shirt. Dom. Is that short for anything?”
“Dominic.” He squeezed both their hands in his.
“That’s what I’m going to call him,” Sunny announced, kissing her baby’s head, now covered with a hat instead of a sock. Bailey wondered for a moment where the sock had gone but she glimpsed it on the floor near the trash. “For as long as I have him anyway.”
“You don’t have to do that,” he said but when Bailey looked at him, he was absolutely beaming. If she’d thought he was a beautiful man before, she would have fallen in love with him in that instant—if he hadn’t been her teacher, of course.
“I want to.” Sunny beamed back at him.
“Okay, let’s get you checked out at the hospital now, all right?” The blonde EMT at the head of the gurney gave a nod to her partner who reached back to swing open the door.
“Thank you!” Sunny called again as they wheeled her and the baby out the door, expertly negotiating the corner.
They were alone for just moments. Her hand was still in his and he didn’t let go. Their eyes met and she knew it was the birth energy still moving through them. They’d shared a moment so powerful it had moved them both—something so intimate, it usually happened behind closed doors. Birth was a naturally intimate act—like sex—and the same energy that merged at conception emerged again at birth. Even the same hormones were involved. That much she knew from biology.
That’s what she told herself after he kissed her. She was sure he hadn’t planned it and she hadn’t either. One minute they were standing there, eyes shining, grinning like fools, and the next they had their arms around each other, their mouths slanting, tongues clashing, bodies melting together in the humid bathroom that smelled of everything human—blood and sweat and sex.
The kiss happened like an orgasm, startling her with its intensity, and she gasped when they parted. The look in his eyes was just as surprised as her own, she was sure, but she saw a hunger there she wondered if he could see in her too. Because she wanted him. God help her, she wanted him so much that if the bathroom door hadn’t opened, they might have just fucked right there. She could see it happening—him lifting her onto the edge of the sink, shoving up her skirt, unzipping his jeans…
“Well it looks like you two had quite a night!” The white-haired janitor pushed his yellow mop bucket into the bathroom, propping the door open with a “Caution – Wet Floor” sign.
“Sorry about the mess,” Bailey apologized, still breathless, cheeks flushed and stinging from Dom’s five o’clock shadow. She didn’t dare look at him as she picked her backpack and coat up off the floor. “Birth is kind of a messy business.”
“My wife had five, but I wouldn’t know,” the janitor chuckled. “Birthing is women’s business. I just pass out the cigars.”
“I think the most worthwhile things in life are a little messy,” Dom replied. She felt his hand against her lower back, guiding her out of the bathroom.
“You’re probably right about that!” the janitor laughed as they edged their way around him.
Bailey noticed Shelby wasn’t hanging around anymore. In fact, the hallway was deserted. She let him lead her, wondering where they were going, part of her not caring. If he took her back to the classroom, closing the door, and bent her over the desk, she wouldn’t have cared a bit. Well, that wasn’t quite true. A part of her desperately wanted him to do just that.
The adrenaline from the birth was still surging through her body, making her fingertips tingle and her heart hammer in her chest. She’d been to births before and was familiar with the feeling, but this time it had all been on her. She’d been the one whose hands had brought a brand new baby into the world for the first time.
“Where are we going?” she finally asked as they passed the chemistry classroom where she’d discovered she’d failed the exam just a few short hours ago. It was dark now, the door closed.
“My office.” He produced keys from his jeans pocket, stopping at a door just past the chemistry room.
She followed him in, blinking as the fluorescents overhead buzzed before flickering to life. His desk was stacked with lab books and file folders. There was a huge periodic table taped to one of the painted cinderblock walls and Bailey made a face at it. Her memorization skills were exceptional—she could name every single one of them—but she couldn’t figure out scientific notation to save her life.
Professor Jacobs shut the door behind him and motioned to one of the chairs in front of his desk. Bailey sat, putting her backpack and coat at her feet and watching him open a tall metal cabinet. Inside there were a few button down shirts and several suit coats. He slid a clean white shirt off one of the hangers, slipping it on before turning to face her. His jeans wore dark spots of amniotic fluid like inkblots on paper.
“Have you ever done that before?” He took a seat in his office chair, facing her. His shirt remained unbuttoned as he leaned forward on his elbows. So they weren’t going to talk about the kiss. She felt her body relax, relieved.
“No,” she admitted, keeping her gaze on his face and definitely not on the hard ridged planes and angles of his chest. “I’ve been to births before but I’ve never caught a baby.”
“You were just amazing.” He ran a hand through his hair. “I couldn’t believe how cool-headed you were. You just took charge and did what needed to be done.”
“I was shaking on the inside,” she admitted with a little smile.
He studied her with those sharp blue eyes and she’d never felt so proud or so self-conscious in her life. She wanted to smooth her hair, straighten her blouse, pull down her skirt, but she willed herself to sit still under his gaze. “If you stay calm, then the mama stays calm, and that makes the birth that much easier.”
“But when he got stuck? And you just shoved your hand in there—?” He sounded awed and she blushed at the heat of his gaze. “How in the hell did you know how to do that?”
“My roommate is a doula.” She always explained what a doula was because no one ever knew—and often confused it with being an actual midwife. “A doula does labor support. Sometimes for women who don’t have anyone else. Sometimes for women who want to have a more natural birth in a hospital setting, which isn’t easy when the cesarean section rate is upwards of thirty percent.”
“But you’d never done that before?”
“No.” She shook her head. “But I’ve seen it done.”
“Amazing.” He leaned forward, crossing his arms on the surface of his desk. “You were just… amazing.”
“Thanks.” She felt the blood rushing to her face at the compliment. “That’s what I want to do.”
“Deliver babies?”
“I want to be a nurse-midwife.” Why did saying it out loud make her feel like she was admitting something shameful? It had been such a buried desire for so long, it felt as if she was sharing a secret. “That’s why I’m taking chemistry.”
He made a face. “You’re failing chemistry, Bailey.”
“I know.” She swallowed, looking down at the floor. “I’ve always sucked at math.”
“But seven percent?” He shook his head. “There’s got to be something else going on. Did you study?”
“For hours.” She sighed, tugging at the hem of her skirt. “I got A’s in biology. No math.”
Dom sat back, his index finger pressed to his lips, a gesture she recognized from the classroom. He did that when he was deep in thought. She couldn’t help looking at where his fingertip touched the divot above his upper lip. She couldn’t help thinking about how his mouth had felt, soft yet demanding. How he’d tasted like coffee and cinnamon.
“You could be a doula,” Dom said finally, still tapping his finger there in that little divot. “That doesn’t involve math, right?”
“No
, that’s true,” she replied. She’d thought about it. Joanna said it was the best of both worlds—she got to be at a birth and support the mother, but there was none of the heavy responsibility. And Bailey could see her point. “But…”
“But you want to catch babies?” He smiled and she knew he was remembering—they both were. She could still feel the soft down of the baby’s head against her palm. “You sure knew what you were doing!”
“Hey, I’m not the only one!” she protested. “Mr. Apgar score. How did you know about that? And the cord?”
“I’m a scientist, remember?” he reminded her.
“You play with test tubes and Bunsen burners.” She snorted.
“Is that what you’ve gotten out of chemistry?” His nostrils flared, eyebrows going up.
“It doesn’t matter.” She grabbed her backpack and coat off the floor and stood. “I’m not going to pass.”
He watched her, his finger resting against his lips, his gaze sweeping over her. She was a mess—her hair tangled, her blouse only half tucked in, her skirt damp with god only knew what bodily fluids—but he looked at her like he wanted to bend her over his desk. Right there. The thought made her mouth go dry and her hands tremble as she slung her backpack over her shoulder.
“I have an idea,” he mused quietly.
She met those blue eyes and felt something burning in her belly, coiled like a spring. She wondered what he was thinking, but how could she doubt it, after the way he’d kissed her. But she’d kissed him back. And still wanted more. What was wrong with her?
“I won’t sleep with you for a passing grade,” she told him over her shoulder as she headed toward the door.
“Is that what you imagined I was going to propose?” He glanced up from where he’d been writing something on the back of a business card.
She hesitated, looking back at him, unsure now. “I don’t know.”
“I was going to say…” He stood, coming around his desk toward her. “I’d like you to meet someone.”
